Not a Fairytale
by StoryGirl02
Summary: she's searching for something, but she doesn't know where she'll find it. but it won't be him.
1. white horse

**Not a Fairytale**

**1**

_-too late for you and your white horse-_

* * *

Ever since she had watched Cinderella when she had been six, Hermione had been fascinated by the idea of Prince Charming. How could one man be so perfect, so suited to one woman? It couldn't happen, even though she desperately did want it to happen, especially to her. So she watched the boys at Hogwarts, trying to see if any of them suited her ideals of a Prince Charming. And it all went as she had expected: none of them did, not even one.

And he _didn't count. _

* * *

Her robes pulled tight, she shivered down the hall, teeth chattering.

She was going to be late to Charms, again. Flitwick was going to have her head for turning up this late, two times in a row. No matter what they all said, he was one professor you couldn't mess with.

Voices coming from the classroom just down the hall intrigues her, making her walk closer to them instead of hurrying to Charms, filled with apologies. She peeks in through the crack at the door, eyes squinting to make out the people inside.

_Slytherins. _

The new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor is inside there, wand pointed and murmuring something. She watches as he beckons a student up, telling something to the small class. They all listen eagerly; making this the first time Hermione has seen a group of Slytherins willing to work.

She squints a bit more, making out the figure next to the teacher as Theodore Nott. Captivated by the idea of what they are doing, she watches eagerly, holding her own wand as Theo conjures his Patronus.

Her's is an playful otter; Nott's is a hissing snake.

She watches the whole class go through the cycle, some taking longer than others - then again, they might not have many happy memories to conjure their Patrounus's from.

Parkinson's is a Chihuahua, which makes Hermione laugh at the dumbfounded expression on the girl's faces. She might not now what the barking small dog is, but Hermione does, and it suits her just fine.

Goyle's is a snarling Doberman, which he looks content with. Zabini's is an eagle, and he regards it with pride in his eyes, stroking the bird. Greengrass's is a fluffy cat, which purrs as it walks around the room.

Then Malfoy walks up to the teacher, full of confidence, like always. He holds his wand tightly in his hand, contraction written all over his face.

There are a few moments of silence, before bright light bursts out of the end of his wand, Malfoy shaking softly. Hermione supposes it is hardest for him to think of happy memories, and she does pity him for that.

Squinting, she watches as the light begins to take shape, students at the back of the room flattening themselves to the wall, trying to escape the mass of light that is twisting and turning. It finally takes shape, lifting its head up and roaring.

_A dragon. _

Her first ideal of a Prince Charming comes to mind as she shakes her head and walks away from the classroom.

_A white horse is acceptable. A dragon is not._

This is why Draco Malfoy will never be her Prince Charming.

_Never._

* * *

**This will be a ten-parter! :) For the Prince Charming Challenge on HPFFC! Review, yeaaah? Every little snippet at the top won't be from the story, but from Taylor Swift's song White Horse, which I love! :D **


	2. angel face

**Not a Fairytale**

**2**

_- that face of an angel- _

* * *

She eyes him over breakfast the next day, trying to see whether conjuring his own Patronus has changed him somehow. It hasn't, he looks the same as always, smug and cocky.

Hermione chews on the crust of her toast, thinking. Despite his obvious attractiveness, she has never been physically attracted by him. Sure, she is sometimes amazed by his intelligence, but that is rare. She does see why girls fawn over him, she does. It is because of the combination of his Quidditch physique, and his Malfoy/Black looks. It doesn't matter if he is a total arsehole to them, just because of his so called 'good' looks, girls will always come back to him.

But he doesn't fit her ideals of a Prince Charming, by a long shot.

Sure, he looks like he could come and sweep you off your feet, and you might believe that until you actually hear him talk and see how stuck-up and over-confident he actually is. He is the last person on earth that would ever do that.

She takes a sip of her orange juice, eyeing the room.

Hogwarts seems empty without Harry and Ron, and a part of her heart is missing. She knows that they're just at the Ministry, doing their Auror training, but London from here is an awfully long time, and she desperately misses them.

Half her class is missing too, either killed or missing in action.

Hogwarts is empty. Of all that have come back, she only gets along with a select few, and they can never ever replace Harry and Ron. She drains the rest of her glass, and places it back down, shaking her head.

Malfoy will never be her ideal. _Never ever._ She would rather die.

Hermione rifles through the books in her bag, gnawing down on her bottom lip, lost in thought. She has Herbology first, thankfully with Neville. People like Neville and Luna make her life at Hogwarts much happier.

She shoots a glance at Malfoy, disgusted by the way he commands the Slytherin girls to do his bidding. But they listen, and they do it, so who is she to tell them not to? They would never listen, they're all too blind-sided by his apparent handsomeness.

She'll never be like that, _second best._

If a man wants her for himself, he'll have to fight for her. She isn't going to fall in love that easy. Love just brings heartbreak, and that is something she definitely does not need in her life right now.

Hermione stands up, well aware that she is heading to Herbology way too early, but she really needs to get out of the Great Hall. There are too many memories contained in their walls, of Harry, Ron and her, and they just make the ache in her heart worsen.

She glances back at the Slytherin before she leaves, shaking her head at Malfoy.

Yes, he definitely does not suit her ideal.

_Prince Charming's hair will be __a lovely golden brown and always immaculate, not eternally blond._

Draco Malfoy does not suit.

* * *

**Review, yeah?**


	3. honestly believed

****

Not a Fairytale

**3**

_-i honestly believed in you-_

* * *

He's lost so much weight that his robes hang off of him.

She does feel a pang of sympathy towards him, but he brought it on himself. He participated in the wrong side, he supported Voldemort, and he has to pay the consequences. But Hogwarts food is so good that she has no doubt in her mind that he will gain back the weight he has lost. No more need for to be concerned towards his health, no need at all.

Potions is a sad affair, hardly anyone is there. Slughorn conducts his lesson nevertheless, his booming voice making the dungeon seem much more crowded then it actually is. They are all seated drastically apart from each other, empty chairs where other students should be in between them.

Of all the first-years that started in 1990, there are only a few left. More and more of them are leaving to pursue their careers, and Hermione is scared that soon it will only be her and Malfoy left.

She stirs the potion softly, glancing down into the black liquid that is soon hopefully going to turn a soft blue. A strand of curly hair falls into her face and she blows it away with a sharp puff of air, looking around the room as she drops her spoon into the cauldron, captivated by the scene at the front of the room.

Potions is the one and only subject she has with Draco Malfoy, and she uses the time each week to examine him. He never notices, and for that she is thankful.

He still looks the same, maybe a little bit gaunter in the face from his weight-loss, but still the same. He still acts the same that is for sure, still cocky and confident, despite his family's fall from grace. The Malfoy name is mud now, and she smothers a laugh at the irony of it.

The potions is simmering softly now, almost to a light blue, thankfully. Slughorn is seated at the front of the class, eyeing his meagre assemble of students carefully.

She smiles softly at the cauldron, nodding at she caps the small bottle, filled to the brim with a soft blue liquid. It is handed to Slughorn, who smiles softly, and she walks out of the room, first to finish.

_Clothes will be perfect, both flattering and well-fitting, at all times._

Malfoy's clothes are not well-fitting or flattering.

She still has to continue her search for Prince Charming.

* * *

**Review, yeah?**


	4. treat me well

**Not a Fairytale**

**4**

_-somewhere who might actually treat me well-_

* * *

She takes a walk in the grounds one day, rugged up in protection from the cold. Her hair is loose, a brightly-coloured beanie jammed on top of her head. The cold has turned her lips an unnaturally shade of red, and her cheeks have turned pink, almost like she has been pinching them.

The snow makes the terror of what has happened at Hogwarts lately wash away. It's purifies it, cleanses it, and that makes her feel happy. In time, just like Hogwarts, the snow will make her bad memories fade away, become something of the past. Sure, she'll always remember the time she had to fight for her life, fight for what she wanted in life, but she'll be able to look back on the day with happiness, because well, they won.

They triumphed, not Voldemort.

Unfortunately, her thoughts are broken by the sounds of someone muttering to themself. She glanced around to look for the intruder, by the heavily-snowed trees block everything and anything from her sight.

She pulls back a branch to glance behind it into the clearing, eyes searching.

There. A coat pulled tight around his shivering form, Draco Malfoy is sitting down on the ground, mumbling underneath his breath. Hermione approaches him with caution, walking softly.

He looks up as soon as she sits down next to him, drawing her knees to her chest in an attempt to keep warm. "What do you want?" he asks, snarling softly. Snow is stuck in his hair, making the already-pale strands seem almost transparent. She shrugs, shivering, her teeth chattering.

Draco pulls something from his pocket and throws in it her lap. She unfolds the clump of woollen fabric, and slips the mittens on. "Thanks," she murmurs. She is silent for a few seconds, before her curiosity gets the better of her. "What are you doing out here in the cold?" she asks, looking sideways at him.

He shrugs.

"Just wanted to get away from it all, you know?" he tells her, letting snow fall through his fingers. "Everyday someone says something bad about me, everyday I get yelled at and put down because of what my father has done. I'm sick of it."

Hermione scoffed. "Put down?" she says, shaking her head. "Far from it. You're adored, Malfoy, absolutely loved."

"Only by the Slytherins," he mumbles softly. "And then, only because their mothers think that, despite all my family's failure, I would be a good husband for their daughters to marry. Rich, you know, and all that. If it wasn't for that, no one would talk to me."

"Oh." She gets it now. Even though his name has been dragged through the mud, Draco Malfoy is still an eligible bachelor to the numerous pureblooded mothers, only because he has money.

"Sorry?" she offers a second later, looking at him.

He snorts softly. "Don't be," he tells her. "There's nothing you can do. This is my fault, for joining the fucking Dark Lord in the first place." Draco pulls his coat sleeve up his arm, baring his skin. She shudders away from the skull. Despite his death, Voldemort's mark still causes eerie feelings to her. Draco looks at her. "I have to content with seeing this fucking thing everyday, every single day, and all it does is remind me of what I've done!" He grasps a rock in his hand and pegs it at the trees, shaking his head. "I hate it, I despise it."

"I'm sorry," she says, placing a hand on his arm. He flinches away. "Don't touch me," he barks, scowling at her. Hermione shrugs, and draws her arm away. "Just go."

And despite it all, despite everything, Draco Malfoy is still the same. He still thinks of her as a Mudblood, and she knows that that is never going to change.

_And Charming will address his lady as "My Love", or some other such epithet. "Hey, mudblood!" is not acceptable._

Her heart sinks as she glances back at Malfoy, his head downcast, arm still bared, the Dark Mark tainting his pale flesh.

Not the one.

* * *

**Nearly 1/2 complete! Review, yeah? :)**


	5. lost in your eyes

**Not a Fairytale**

**5**

_- I was naive, got lost in your eyes-_

* * *

She bumps into him at the library, Madam Pince eying his form warily. He looks at her, as if trying to see something, before shaking his head and walking away, disappearing into the aisles. Suddenly decisive, she follows after him, Pince sighing behind her. He's not in the first aisle, or the second, so she continues on, glancing down all the aisles before she walks down the last one, sighing as she glances down.

He's sitting on the floor, engrossed in an open book. "Get up," she says, watching as he shakes his head, eyes not removing themselves from his book. Hermione sighs. "That wasn't a request Malfoy, get up!"

He groans softly. "Just leave me the hell alone, Granger!" he murmurs, turning the page in his book.

She sighs, and sits down next to him. "I'm sorry, but I'm not leaving," she tells him, gazing at his face, his eyes firmly fixed on the carpet, fingers plucking at the fabric.

Malfoy glares at her, shaking his head. "Then I will," he says, beginning to stand up.

With a hard tug on his arm, he is back down in an instant, grey eyes glaring intensely at her. "What the freaking hell, Granger?" he hisses out, scowling.

Hermione shrugs. "It wasn't supposed to work. You're weaker than you look, Malfoy."

"Excuse me?" he asks, shooting daggers her way.

The heat of his gaze, if it came from anyone else, it would possibly scare her, but because this is Draco Malfoy, and he's down too deep to physically want to hurt her, she just returns it, smirking softly.

Hermione shrugs softly once more. "You heard me," she says, flipping open a book and outstretching her legs, just like she would be if this was any other normal day. She flashes a smile at Malfoy.

"Don't fucking smile at me, Mudblood," Malfoy whispers.

Any softer and she might have missed it, but she heard exactly what he said.

Her hand connects with his left cheek sharply, and she looks on in respect at the bright-red hand print that has now been left there. Malfoy looks up at her, glaring. "What the hell?" he hisses, clamping a hand to his cheek softly. "Granger, that fucking hurt!"

Hermione shrugs for the third time, sitting back down against the bookcase. "Don't call me a mudblood," she suggests casually as she flips for the book. "And we'll get along famously, Malfoy."

"I have the dammed right to call anyone anything I want," he tells her, glaring softly. "I'm Draco Malfoy, and if I want to call you that, I will."

Hermione raises an eyebrow.

"You know," she begins, closing the book softly. Malfoy looks up at her, and she is happy to see that her hand-print is still there, throbbing red. It looks like it hurts, but she really doesn't care. "You know," she says again, "if it wasn't for me, you'd be in Azkaban? Harry and Ron had a half a mind to throw you in there as soon as the war ended. But I reasoned with them, and told them to at least let you finish your education before they made any rash decisions."

Malfoy shrugs. "You really shouldn't have Granger," he tells her. "I'd rather be in Azkaban, surrounded by rats then be here with all this scum."

She huffs. "Honestly, there is no reasoning with you!"

Malfoy casts an interested look up at her and she stands up, shoving the book back in its place and pulling her bag over her shoulders.

"Where are you going?" he questions eagerly.

She huffs once more. "Where do you think, Malfoy?" she returns. "Use that brain of yours, and I'm sure you'll figure it out soon enough."

He glares at her, scowling.

Hermione shakes her head, and pulls something out of her pocket. It drifts down into his lap. "That's for you," she remarks softly. "It was delivered this morning at breakfast, which you weren't at, and I was asked to deliver it personally to you."

He scoffs, waving the paper. "I'm supposed to be grateful?" he asks, shaking his head.

Hermione shakes her head. "Not grateful, Malfoy," she tells him. "Just a little bit of respect would be nice." The glare he sends her is so icy, that if the heaters weren't currently blasting out warm puffs of her, she swears that she might have frozen.

Hermione walks out of the library.

Malfoy opens the letter, and begins to read.

No, he's _definitely _not the one.

_Eyes will be a warm, gentle blue, not grey and hard._

Grey-eyed, blond-haired, pureblooded-pricks like Draco Malfoy do not fit the bill.

* * *

**HALFWAY THERE! XD Review, yes?**


	6. catch me now

****

Not a Fairytale

**6**

_-try and catch me now-_

* * *

He doesn't look at her, doesn't glare, doesn't smirk. Somehow, someway, she has reduced Draco Malfoy down into a simpering coward. He just sits there, head bowed, the letter crumpled in his hands.

He must have read it a thousand times by now.

_Dearest Draco, _

_I regret to be the bearer of bad news, but this is the only way I can tell you- through letter. I would simply adore to see you in person, I would cherish the thought. But I cannot, I must stay here, trapped in a house that has never seen so much like a prison. _

_Your father has been taken to Azkaban, where he is to stay for god knows how long. I am all alone, guarded day and night. As if I would escape, even if I had a place to go to. I know better than that. I must stay here, and wait for either you or your father to be released, whichever comes first. _

_Study hard, my son. I only want the best for you. _

_All my love, _

_Mother. _

* * *

She sneaks a look at him during Potions.

He looks like a robot, head straight, eyes staring blankly forwards. Copies down notes silently, the only noise coming from the scratching of his quill as it goes back and forth. He shows no emotion, and for a second, Hermione fears that she had done something dreadfully wrong by giving him the letter.

She would simply love a letter from her parents, she cherishes the thought. And McGonagall did tell her to give it to him, so she was just following orders. It isn't her fault that whatever it might have said affected him so much. (She tossed and turned with the idea of opening the letter and reading it, but decided against it. It wasn't polite.)

So why is she worrying over Malfoy, after all he has done to spite her?

She honestly doesn't know.

* * *

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

He clutches desperately at the letter, grey eyes staring down at it.

How can he be so stupid to let him affect him like this? It's just a stupid letter, for Merlin's sake! Nothing, just parchment and ink, nothing. Just because his father has been thrown into Azkaban, and his heart pangs at the feeling of his mother being all alone in the Manor, with only guards and house-elves for company, doesn't meant he should be feeling this way.

He sighs, smoothing out the creases.

It's just a letter.

Honestly, it means_ nothing._

* * *

Hermione falls down on the bed, sighing softly. She tugs at a loose strand of hair, rolling over and pulling her knees up to her chest. Eyes shut, and she breathes deeply, slowly, as she waits for the time to tick past.

She shouldn't be feeling like this.

He's not even her _friend_, for god's sake! She despises him, seriously! Why does she feel sorry for him? She doesn't even know what the letter contained. It could have been good news, like his father and mother are safe and happy.

But she knows it wasn't good news.

Sighing, she muffles her frustrated screams with the pillow.

* * *

Her dreams are weird that night. She supposes that it is because she is mentally and physically exhausted, and not at all because she is feeling bad about how she treated Malfoy.

She dreams of flower-filled paddocks, and white dresses.

But the boy in her dreams isn't grey-eyed and blond haired. He doesn't have a pale complexion. He isn't the smirking, glaring, hissing boy that she thinks about of late.

He is red-headed, and blue-eyed. He has freckles, millions upon millions of them, scrawled all over his face and body. He grins lazily, almost like he can't be bothered to form a proper smile.

Hermione wakes up, drenched in sweat, her hand clenched around the pillow. She takes a deep breath, and releases the fabric.

For the first time, someone else has come into the equation.

_But n__o Prince Charming ever had freckles._

She sighs, shaking her head.

Who is the one?

* * *

**4 to go! :) Review yes? **


	7. went & let me down

**Not a Fairytale**

**7**

_- I was a dreamer before you went & let me down-_

_

* * *

_He smirks softly, running a hand down the blonde's back slowly. The girl shivers softly, shooing his hand away with a grin. This is supposed to piss her off? _Seriously?_ Hermione couldn't care less if he whored himself around just like he had before, honestly. It just proved that it was stupid to think that he had changed, stupid to think that Draco Malfoy could maybe be her Prince Charming, her happily-ever-after.

She just shakes her head, returning his smirk.

He can do what he likes, she doesn't care.

* * *

But it all changes one day.

She walks in on him snogging a brunette senseless in the secluded library. Her book thumps to the floor as she stares at him in astonishment, the brunette quickly straightening her clothes and fleeing the scene.

He raises his eyebrow, and this action annoys her to no end. "Jealous, Granger?" he drawls, smirking.

She scoffs loudly. "As if! I'm actually feeling sorry for the poor girl. Was it a lust potion you slipped her Malfoy? Either way, you must have done sometime to the girl, because she didn't seem that happy to be in her position."

"Oh, she was happy enough, trust me," he says, walking towards her. "And take my word for it, I could bewitch any witch with my charms, and I still can."

Hermione shakes her head, placing her book on the table behind her. "You seem to have forgotten something Malfoy," she tells him, crossing her arms.

"And that is?"

"You haven't, and you never will, bewitched me. So your claim that any witch can fall to your charms, is completely false," she tells him, smirking.

"You seem sure of that," he whispers, running a hand down her cheek.

She scoffs. "I'm more than sure of that!" she exclaims. "You, Draco Malfoy, are nothing but lowlife scum and I can do so much better, I assure you." In one movement, she pries his hand off her cheek, and walks away.

* * *

Her anger towards him grows rapidly over the following days, when she either seems to be walking in on him doing things to girl she would rather not mention, or be taunted by him in class. And she's sick of it, sick of this jealousy that is bubbling up inside her. It's not like she even likes him, right? She may have been hoodwinked by his obviously well-learned charms and the fact that someone was actually paying attention to her after all, but that doesn't mean that she is in love with him.

Biting her lip, she shook her head softly. She cannot be in love with him, it's just not right.

_Oh god, oh god. _

She was jealous because she was in love with him!

* * *

Hermione could barely stand seeing him in Potions next morning. She used to love the fact that she sat at the back, was able to see everything going on, but now she hated it. She hated that she could see his hand sneaking down a girl's robes, hated that she could see his sly smirks.

This whole thing is annoying her more than she will ever let on. He must know how she feels about him, after all he was the one who sired feelings in her, feelings she hadn't even felt with Viktor. And now, he just flaunts everything and she is utterly sick of it.

She chops her root in four pieces, slamming the knife down.

This whole flirting thing is too much, honestly it is. She wants to pick up this knife and throw it at him repeatedly until his heart breaks like hers has. She honestly thought that he had changed, but apparently he hasn't. She believed that she had changed Draco Malfoy for the better, but she hasn't.

Just like she said to him, he is just lowlife scum.

Her feelings will go away in time, she hopes, and everything will return to normal.

* * *

**3 left! Things are about to change dramatically! :)**


	8. baby i was naive

**Not a Fairytale**

**8**

**-**_ baby i was naive, got lost in your eyes-_**  
**

**

* * *

**It's been a week since the library incident, and she couldn't feel possibly any better. Malfoy has been ignoring her for the past seven days, which is a good thing to be honest and she has been able to spend her time studying over her books instead of fretting over him. And even though her feelings for him haven't dwindled as much as she would have liked them to have, she is sure that they will disappear over the coming weeks and months.

Her mind has been influenced heavily on the Prince Charming she was so captivated by when she was younger. So far, Malfoy hasn't fit any of these categories, and she isn't sure whether this is a sign showing her that he isn't the one, or whether or not it is just that the categories are just too far from her reach.

Even though she knows that his family have suffered heavily from the war, in more ways then one, and if she had considered this a year, or even half-a-year ago, he would have been a definite yes for this, there is no denying that the Malfoy family funds have suffered badly from the war. None of their records have been destroyed, but their 'richness' and pride definitely have suffered.

And a Prince Charming is what the title suggests, a prince.

She knows that the prospect of finding an actual prince these days is probably zero to none, and she doesn't want one, but a poor Prince Charming is not acceptable.

Sure Malfoy still might have his looks and family history ranging back to whenever as he so proudly boasts, but he cannot deny that he doesn't have as much as the richness as he used to.

* * *

Why is she being so shallow though?

She has never been one for the material things, never cared about how much money some one had or not. Some of her happiest times have been spent with no money, for instance. Her parent's would be ashamed if they knew that she was judging people on their financial status in life. After all, it really wasn't their fault was it? Money came and went, as sure as the tide.

And even though Malfoy has bad characteristics, this she is sure of as is most of the people attending Hogwarts, he cannot be blamed for what happened to his family. The blame lies on the shoulders of his father, and even though he has been rude and a right arse to her, she cannot just forget about him just because of his decreased wealth. That would be to contradict everything that she believed it.

Hermione rubs her forehead softly, sighing.

What to do, _what to do?_

_

* * *

_**Ahhhhhhhhh two more to go & NaF is finished! :'( **_  
_


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